


stick by me and i will stick by you

by armyofbees



Series: over time without a break [8]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Grave visiting, Grief/Mourning, Metaphors, graveyards, jeremy messersmith, kind of, listen it's better than most everything else in this series so far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 18:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11880354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: Eliza takes deep breaths, picks up a flower in one hand, twirls it, gives herself something to do. She closes her eyes and when she opens them again, the rain is still falling. It’s still yellow and pink and blue, but it’s okay, now. It’s not about Maria, now.--Eliza is tired of waiting for the impossible. She's ready to put up her umbrella.





	stick by me and i will stick by you

**Author's Note:**

> Aaand we begin the healing arc. Hurray. Title is from [A Girl, a Boy, and a Graveyard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K2XdgMFffZU) by Jeremy Messersmith. I'd like everyone to take note of the complete reordering I did of the series, because there were some inconsistencies with seasons/timing/character arcs in between the stories. I now also have a handy little timeline in the summary of the series, so you have some idea what's going on when. Alright, enjoy!

Eliza’s at the graveyard again. She has a routine—through the back, past her family, lay down her flowers, talk. She knows she’s talking to a grave. She guesses, technically, she’s talking to a rock. It doesn’t change anything.

Eliza thinks it’s probably a habit, at this point. She doesn’t know if she could break it, even if she tried. She hasn’t tried.

It’s a rainy spring. Again. Eliza looks up and she sees  _ color, _ and she thinks about how Maria saw it, too. Eliza thinks about how Maria’s the only one who saw it. She hasn’t told anyone else about the colors.

They fall with finality—blue, red, yellow, pink, purple, green, and again—over and over and over, and Eliza has to close her eyes. She used to think that using rain as a metaphor for tears was stupid, but now… She doesn’t realize she’s crying until she can’t stop.

She’s relaid her bed of flowers, all orange and red and too bright for a graveyard. It’s okay, she thinks, because then Maria stands out. Or, Maria’s grave stands out. Eliza likes it that way. She thinks Maria would’ve liked it, too, but she never got the chance to ask.

The flowers are halfway up the stone at this point, and it suddenly strikes her that she doesn’t want to bury it in orange. Because what would the point be, really, if she built a coffin around Maria’s memory and called it beautiful? She’s crying again, this time because that would be one hell of a metaphor.

Eliza realizes, with a jolt, that she hasn’t said anything yet. She’s just been sitting, and watching, and crying. She brought an umbrella this time, but it sits, folded, at her side. The rain is still falling.

She opens her mouth, and she wants to say something, but suddenly anything she might have in mind is inadequate. Suddenly, there is nothing she can say to make this alright.

She knows, distantly, that there never really  _ was, _ but it’s been two years, and she’s still clinging to that hope. God, she’s pathetic. She still hasn’t said anything.

“Hi, Maria,” she tries, but her voice doesn’t hold, especially not around her tears, and she’s still shaking from the rain, and she’s  _ cold, _ but  _ oh, God, _ how cold must  _ Maria _ be? and she’s crying all over again.

Eliza takes deep breaths, picks up a flower in one hand, twirls it, gives herself something to do. She closes her eyes and when she opens them again, the rain is still falling. It’s still yellow and pink and blue, but it’s okay, now. It’s not about Maria, now. (Well, it is, but Eliza is thinking about Easter, and not about how she’ll never be here again.)

“Maria,” Eliza says, and her voice holds steady, and she forces herself to look up from the flower, at the headstone. “It’s… um…” Her eyes catch on the dates again, on how close they are, on how  _ people don’t die after sixteen years, _ and suddenly— “It’s almost two years, now, huh? Yeah, it’s… it’s March, isn’t it? I… God, I can believe it, too. It feels like forever since I’ve seen you. I guess… it’s good practice.” She has to swallow a sob and the urge to vomit. “Fuck, God, sorry, that’s so—that’s so morbid, sorry.”

Eliza tries to take deep breaths again, and it’s working, only it’s not helping the lump in her throat and she can’t speak with it there, and she’s  _ not going to cry again, _ not  _ again, _ not when she’s trying to  _ talk. _

She closes her eyes and turns her face up to the sky and lets the rain hit her cheeks. It’s lighter now, like talking alleviated it. Like if she talks enough, tries to  _ fix _ enough, she’ll be okay.

“So, um… two years is a long time,” Eliza says, slowly. She doesn’t open her eyes. “I guess… I’m just tired of waiting. God, it’s such a long time. I miss you, I miss you so much, but I just… I can’t… I can’t live like this—I can’t be waiting for you to come back anymore, you’re  _ dead—” _ Eliza breaks off again, and this time she can’t stop herself from sobbing. She doesn’t think she’s ever said those words aloud, before. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to again.

She sobs until her eyes hurt from her rubbing at them, until she’s cried enough to outmatch the rain, until the rain has stopped and all that’s left is the stains of pink and yellow and blue and green and more and more on her dress and her hands and her face.

The sky doesn’t clear when the rain is over. The clouds still hang low, low, ready to fall out of the air. But the rain has stopped and Eliza’s tears have stopped coming and she thinks maybe, maybe, she can start talking again.

“Sorry about that.” Her voice is crackly. “I just wanted to tell you… I think I’m going to stop bringing flowers.”  _ Two years. _ “I still miss you. God, I don’t think I’m ever going to  _ stop _ missing you. But I just… I need to… I need to accept that you’re… you’re gone.”

She can’t say it.

Eliza reaches out and touches Maria’s name, engraved in the headstone, forever. She’s not here, but her name is, her  _ memory _ is, and Eliza thinks that it might be enough.

“Life’s a game you’re meant to lose…” murmurs Eliza, and she looks at the stone and she reads the names and the dates and memorizes every detail… and she smiles. “Maybe it is a game. Maybe it’s a dangerous game. Maybe only some of us really realize the limits… Maybe it’s a game that everyone loses, in the end.” Eliza doesn’t feel tears rise up, and she’s as surprised as she is relieved. She’s cried as much as she ever wants to.

“Maybe it’s a game that no one loses.”

She lets her hand drop and looks at it, and she can still see the stains of color on it, but they’re fading, and she thinks it’s only a matter of time before they’re gone completely. She thinks that next time, she’ll use her umbrella.

Eliza goes to stand up, drops the flower that she’s holding. “Thank you, Maria.” She picks up her umbrella, opens it even though the rain has stopped and now the clouds are starting to dissipate. “For everything.”

She takes another moment to look at the grave, and sighs. She thinks today has been a long time coming. She thinks that maybe, the others will have their today.

God, a year ago, when everything seemed so dark… Eliza could almost understand why Maria would do it. A year ago, when she grieved with her entire heart, her whole  _ being, _ and had no one to save her from herself.

Eliza turns, and she starts towards the front of the graveyard.

Yes, she thinks, with a little bounce in her step, the others will have their today.


End file.
